


A Chance

by TracingHerWay



Category: The Handmaid's Tale (TV), The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-30
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:01:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21618049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TracingHerWay/pseuds/TracingHerWay
Summary: Another take on a 2x10 fix-it fic. Nick/June. Oneshot.---“That’s enough. Time’s up,” the Guardian grunts at us. No hint of sympathy in his voice.I hear him getting closer, his heavy, unforgiving footprints punching the snow, and I steel myself to relive the agony of having her ripped from my arms, as his hand lands on my shoulder.
Relationships: Nick Blaine/June Osborne | Offred
Comments: 7
Kudos: 48





	A Chance

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is half inspired by [thismidnight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thismidnight)’s recent fic [Love Someone](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21599407) (although a slightly different take) and half an idea that I have had in my head for a while now and needed to get out. Thank you, Tina, for giving me the final push to get it written!

“Come here,” I say to Hannah softly, the snow biting my knees, frozen and wet. My heart breaking as I pull her in to me for one more hug. I know it’s the last one I can steal. I can’t buy any more time, sobbing silently into her curly hair; I don’t want her to see me cry. Against the frosty air, I try and escape for a moment; to lose myself in the smell of her—that baby smell that she never lost—and bottle it in my mind. Refreshing the memory to keep me sane for another eternity in this hell.

I know I should, but I can’t bring myself to let her go. I can’t tell her to leave. _One more minute. Please. Just one more._

But no good.

“That’s enough. Time’s up,” the Guardian grunts at us. No hint of sympathy in his voice.

I hear him getting closer, his heavy, unforgiving footprints punching the snow, and I steel myself to relive the agony of having her ripped from my arms, as his hand lands on my shoulder.

But instead, I hear the click of a gun and his movement stops abruptly.

“Hands up. Behind your head.”

Nick’s voice.

I look up. He has his gun pressed to the back of the Guardian’s head. The air flies out of my lungs in a silent gasp. _What?_

“June, move over to the car with Hannah,” Nick orders, taking charge, his eyes trained on the other man.

I blink, suddenly feeling dizzy, trying to stop my head from spinning. My heart is pounding in my ears, ready to burst, still overcome from the thought of losing Hannah all over again. Only a couple of minutes ago, Nick was holding me at the door, pleading with me not to follow her outside. But now, he’s holding himself differently. A switch has flipped; resignation has given way to defiance. I see resolve etched into every angle of his body.

“What the fuck are you doing?” The Guardian seethes at him, as I collect myself enough to get to my feet and quickly usher Hannah away from harm.

“If you move, I will shoot,” Nick tells him firmly. No hesitation. “Understood?”

Then, he uses his free hand to pull the man’s gun from his holster—he knows the uniform like the back of his hand. He tosses it a few feet away, towards the house, out of the man’s reach.

“Get down. On your knees.”

The Guardian shoots him a hateful look, but does as he’s told. Nick takes the man’s radio—the only other possible threat from his gear—to prevent him calling for backup.

“Mommy...” Hannah whimpers, scared by this turn of events.

“It’s okay, baby,” I whisper. “He won’t hurt us.”

The Martha speaks up then. “Wh-What are you doing?”

“We’re getting out of here,” Nick responds, gun still pointed down, chest heaving with adrenaline, jaw set. He glances at me briefly, checking. Checking I understand. Checking I’m in.

I think it over: I have my daughter in my arms. We have a car. We’re together; Nick and I. This is what I wanted at the Globe. To get Hannah and just drive.

He wouldn’t do it back then. Too much of a risk. But now, maybe, he thinks we have a chance.

“We’re an hour and a half north of Boston,” he explains to me. “New Hampshire. It can’t be much more than two hours to the border.”

_Two hours_. That’s still a lot of ground to cover. But it’s better odds than central Boston, with all its checkpoints and barriers.

As if sensing my doubt, he continues.

“We’re in the middle of nowhere. Waterford told me three hours. He won’t even know we’re missing for at least another hour and a half,” he continues, growing more confident as he speaks. As if saying the words out loud is making him believe it harder. Willing this fantasy into reality.

I can see the promise in his eyes. He’s going to do it. He’s going to get us out. I squeeze Hannah’s shoulder a bit tighter and nod.

Nick blinks, looking more certain after my approval, and stares at the Guardian, holding the radio up to the man’s mouth.

“Who is on the other end of the line?”

When he doesn’t respond, Nick holds the barrel up to the centre of his forehead. “Tell me.”

The man sucks in a breath, outraged, but out of ideas.

“My superior. Back at the main house. He knows where we are. He’ll be waiting for news.”

“Where are they? How far away?”

“Back in Boston. Near Brookline.”

Nick nods, taking it in, visibly relieved. No closer than our own district. “Okay. Then tell him you’re finished here. That you’re driving them back now.”

The man doesn’t move. Doesn’t nod. One last act of rebellion. Nick raises his eyebrows and presses the barrel a little harder in to his temple. “Is that a problem?”

He clenches his jaw, but gives in, shaking his head. Nick turns the radio on.

“All done here, Sir,” the Guardian parrots. “Heading back now.”

A staticky voice replies. _“Any trouble with the Handmaid?”_

Nick eyes him like a hawk.

“No, Sir.”

_“Alright, Jonathan. Good work. See you later.”_

He swallows, shooting a dark look at Nick. “Yes, Sir.”

Once he is sure the conversation is over, Nick shuts the radio off and tucks it in to his own coat.

Jonathan shuts his eyes, nostrils flaring. Waiting for Nick to pull the trigger.

“Do it. If you leave me here, I’m as good as dead.” he cuts in, challenging Nick, his face burning with rage, sucking in sharp, panicked breaths. “They’ll kill me. For letting you go. You _fucking_ bastard.”

“Not if I make it look like there was a struggle.” Nick replies, matter-of-factly. A step ahead.

The Guardian squints at him, trying to unravel what he’s just said, to make sense of it. Nick pauses for a second, taking a few breaths, working himself up to something, before:

“I’m sorry.”

He turns his gun quickly and knocks the man out with the butt of it, in one swift movement. Jonathan drops, limp, into the snow. Unconscious. Nick crouches down to check his pulse, and then, once satisfied, turns his attention to the Martha, who looks frightened.

“It’s okay. He’ll be fine. I’m not gonna hurt you. What’s your name?”

“Frances.”

“Okay. Frances. I can either tie you up with him, make it look like you weren’t part of this ... or you can come with us. Your choice. But you’ll have to go in the trunk.”

She looks between Hannah and I, and back at Nick, her face frozen. Then to the body on the floor. I watch as, slowly, her fear subsides and she calms down. She winds her fear in and starts to come back to us. Opportunities like this don’t come around every day in Gilead. A look of purpose takes hold.

“What can I do?” she asks with one nod of her head—the only confirmation we need.

“Can you drive?”

“Yes.”

Nick fumbles in the Guardian’s pockets, before walking over to her and placing his keys in her hand. “Take the other car round the back of the house. Somewhere out of sight from the driveway. Then come straight back. We need to leave as soon as we can.”

Frances moves quickly to work, and as she drives the car away, Nick hurries over to me, hands coming to my sides.

“You okay?”

I nod. “Yeah. How can I help?”

“Open the trunk. There’s a bag in there, in with the spare tyre,” Nick tells me, as he lets go of me, back into action. “There’s rope, and some tape. Bring it to me. Watch your step on the ice.”

“I’ll be fine.”

Nick starts dragging Jonathan into the house. I do as he says, pulling Hannah with me as I cross the driveway. When I open the back of the car, I pull the floor panel of the trunk up to reveal the spare tyre; and, tucked next to it, a black holdall. I grab it and fumble the main zip open. There’s bottled water, some blankets, food, a torch, other supplies. It’s an emergency kit.

“Mommy, what’s going on?” Hannah asks up at me, her voice high-pitched and afraid.

“It’s okay, baby. We don’t have to say goodbye now. ”

She frowns at me. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I nod, assuring her. “But we have to be quick.”

“Who is that man?”

I close my eyes briefly, taken off guard by a question I didn’t expect to have to answer now. Lost for what to say. So I say the least that I possibly can.

“He’s a friend.”

“But he’s a Guardian too. They scare me. Why do you trust him?”

I shake my head, smiling at her. “He’s not like them, sweetie. I know it’s scary, okay, but he’s gonna take us away from here. Somewhere safe.”

She blinks.

“Where? Will Daddy be there?”

I press my lips together to stop from breaking. “I hope so, baby. I think so. Come on.”

I find the things he wanted and move as fast as I can back into the house, after Nick, who has somehow managed to pull the larger man into the front room of the house.

“How did you get all that stuff?” I ask him.

He shrugs, as he takes the rope from me and kneels down to tie the man’s hands behind his back. “Different places. The Eye headquarters. Some of it is from the house. The food is from Jezebel’s, mostly. It’s just some essentials. Incase we needed it one day.”

I stand and catch my breath, still clutching Hannah to me, watching him as he works. He doesn’t look unsure of what to do. He looks like he’s been over this a thousand times, like he’s acting out a scene he’s rehearsed all his life for.

He’s been planning this. Making steps towards freedom all this time. Waiting for the right moment. I had no idea. I wasn’t sure he had this in him. Although, after he told me about the letters at Jezebel’s, I was starting to believe it. I should have had more faith in him. He got me out the first time, nine months ago, didn’t he?

He tears a strip of tape off the roll with his teeth and covers the man’s mouth with it carefully, setting the scene, before checking the room once over and guiding us back outside, one arm strung around my back protectively.

By the time we make it back out the front door, Frances has come back round and we all make our way towards the car. Nick gestures her to the trunk, but she halts.

“What about Agnes?” she asks.

We both wait for Nick to answer, to know what he’s got planned.

“She can crouch in the footwell. We’ll have to put a blanket over her.”

Frances shakes her head. “No. She’ll be scared.” She looks at me. ”Let her come in with me. I can keep her calm.”

Nick looks to me for approval.

I consider it. I want to be with her, but she might be safer in the trunk, and, as much as I don’t want to admit it, Hannah trusts this woman more than me right now. I nod.

“Sweetie, will you be okay in the trunk with Frances?” I ask, bending down, as much as I can, to tuck a lock of her behind her ear. She nods.

I pull her into me, squeezing her tight. Whispering in her ear: “It’s gonna be okay. I’ll see you soon.”

They climb in together, Frances first and then Hannah, lying down. She drapes her arm around Hannah and pulls her in, holding her close.

“If you need anything, just knock on the backseat,” Nick tells them. “I’ll pull over when I can.”

Frances gives him a firm nod.

Nick reaches up to shut the trunk on them, the whites of their eyes the last thing we see as shadow envelopes them. The cover slams shut, and Nick and I are left in silence. Standing side by side, the only sound our own quick, shaky breaths, puffing into clouds against the freezing air. Our eyes lock, and we take a second, realizing the gravity of what we are doing.

“You should sit in the back, incase we get stopped. It’ll look less suspicious.”

I agree and he helps me carefully into the car. As I settle in, I glance up as I take in that it’s still snowing, white splashes falling on to the shoulders of his coat. Nick squints up at the light, blinking in to the grey sky.

“That’s good. The snow will cover our tracks.”

He looks back down, and I try to conjure a smile, still feeling shaken. His face softens slightly. He leans in and brings his hand up to my face, wiping my cheeks, still wet from my reunion with Hannah.

“Alright?” he asks, his voice soft; gentle.

I grab his hand and squeeze it. I can feel it shaking; he’s terrified, despite his brave, commanding front. I don’t think even he can believe what he’s achieved in the past ten minutes.

There’s no time. But there’s one thing I need him to hear. Incase something happens.

The words spill out of me, refusing to be swallowed down.

“I love you.”

His breath catches as I say it. I think of the last time I heard it from him. Two weeks ago, in my room, after he told me about Luke. I had wanted to say it back so badly, to mend the broken look on his face, but I couldn’t. It got stuck in my throat, between thoughts of Moira, free, and of the husband I still loved, too, who wouldn’t recognise me now.

But I know that it’s true; I love Nick. I do. He’s risking everything for me. And not for the first time. I know he’s afraid, but he’s doing it anyway. Even though he doesn’t know what the future holds for us; I’ve never promised him anything and he’s never asked. He just wants me out of here. His chin trembles as he takes in the weight of what I said, and we pull each other in for a hug. I close my eyes into his neck and breathe him in. Trying to push away the thought of never holding him in my arms again. Of the car being stopped, of him being pulled out and taken away. Of Hannah screaming for me, like she was at the beginning of this nightmare, and in every nightmare I have had since. Of being taken back to Fred and Serena. To stare at that ceiling again.

I swallow it down. Not today. I won’t let the fear win today. Today, we have to believe. We’re getting out.

Nick pulls away. Every second counts, and we can’t risk losing ourselves in each other. But, as he leaves my embrace, he rests his hand on my belly. Cradling our baby safely between us. His thumb circling over the spot where I felt its foot kicking me on the drive earlier, unbeknownst to him. I remember his smile, two days ago, when he helped me from the ambulance up the stairs. The look I mirrored back to him, as we thought of our child coming into the world.

I didn’t have much belief then, only a little, but now I do. It won’t be coming into _this_ world. Not Gilead. It won’t be taken away. This is our last chance to stop that from happening. And we will make it count. Nick's eyes bore into mine now, full of fear, but hopeful. They say one thing: _"I've got you."_

He frowns, his eyelids fluttering, and kisses me once on the forehead, stroking his fingers in my hair and centering us both again, before finally closing the door on me, then moving to the driver’s side and getting himself in.

“Ready?” He asks me in the rear-view mirror; his eyes nervous, but determined.

I nod at him, exhilarated, still not believing this is happening. How my fate today could change so quickly.

“Yeah,” I say, the corners of my mouth curving upwards. “Let’s get out of here.” _Drive fast. Don’t stop._

He turns the ignition. And then we’re off.


End file.
